The List
by Aurora West
Summary: Hermione wasn’t sure what had gone wrong in her life. [GeorgeHermione]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: "Harry Potter" isn't mine.

1

"You say too late to start, got your heart in a headlock" - Imogen Heap, "Headlock"

"Now, Hermione, you know you're like a sister to me, right?"

"Oh no. I'm not going to like this, am I?"

Ginny Potter laughed at the response. "Probably not, but only because you're so stubborn."

"This is sounding better and better." Hermione Granger glanced over her shoulder at Ginny's husband, who had been hovering around the edge of their conversation in the Potters' living room. "Harry, whatever she did, why didn't you stop her?"

Raising his eyebrows, Harry Potter said, "You're joking, right? I learned long ago that there's no point in trying to stop her when she gets in one of these moods."

"Ha ha," Ginny said sarcastically, though she shot her husband a bright smile. "Anyway, Hermione, remember that friend of mine I told you about a few weeks ago?"

"Um..."

"Julius? Just moved to London?"

"Er..."

"Recently single?"

"Oh." Hermione sighed. "Yes, I do remember that conversation. But Ginny, I..."

Ginny's face grew determined. "Look, I asked him if he'd like to meet you, and he said yes." Hermione buried her face in her hands and Ginny went on hurriedly, "He's really nice, I'm sure you'll like him. So I asked him if he's free this Saturday, since you mentioned you aren't doing anything --"

"Gin --"

"So you're having dinner with him at that new Italian restaurant in Diagon Alley!" Ginny finished triumphantly.

For a second, Hermione just gave her friend an exasperated stare. She may call herself "Potter" now, but Ginny still had that Weasley trait of thinking she knew what was best for everyone around her. "You know that I'd rather deal with dating my own way." Or, she mused, not at all.

"I thought you could use a little help."

Harry snorted. "Tell her the other part."

"Oh good lord, there's another part?"

Ignoring Hermione's wail, Ginny said, "Oh, right. Since George _also_ has trouble meeting people, I set him up too, so it'll be a double-date!"

"You _didn't_," Hermione gasped, horrified at the thought of _two _people reporting back to Ginny about this impending disaster. "Anyway, I thought George was seeing someone? Didn't you tell me that?"

Ginny rolled her eyes. "_Was_ seeing someone," she replied. "Quite awhile ago. But they split up, and not for any good reason, as far as I could tell."

"George just was looking for something more," Harry offered. "He doesn't want to settle."

"He told you that?" Ginny asked curiously.

"He did." Harry shrugged at the bemused looks on the women's faces. "Just one of those times when we drank more Firewhiskey than was strictly sensible."

"Well, there's no harm in just seeing if he fancies this girl."

Privately, Hermione thought that blind dates _always_ caused harm and that neither she nor Ginny's brother, George, needed any assistance in their love-lives. It was a pity she hadn't known Ginny was planning this, or she would have put a very prompt end to it.

"You should probably play matchmaker with people who appreciate it," Harry remarked.

"No one appreciates it," Hermione grumbled.

"But you'll go?" Ginny asked. "Just give him one chance, please?"

Hermione sighed. "Yes, fine. But when it turns out to be a fiasco, don't say I didn't warn you."

Ginny crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, which elicited a giggle from Hermione. "And when you find the love of your life, don't bother stopping me saying 'I told you so'."

This was an inherently bad idea. Hermione didn't know why she'd let Ginny talk her into it, other than the fact that she knew the young woman really did mean well. And she'd never done this before, after all. Sighing and checking her watch, Hermione hoped she'd never do it again. The worst part of it wasn't even the fact that it was a blind date. No, the worst part was the fact that George Weasley would be there. She hadn't seen a single member of the Weasley family -- besides Ginny -- for a good three years, and there was a reason for that. At best he would just ignore her. At worst...well, hopefully it wouldn't come to a physical altercation.

She wasn't really sure why she was so opposed to the idea of being set up. Some people enjoyed it, didn't they? It _was_ an opportunity to meet someone new, and there really were no guarantees that they wouldn't get along. On the other hand, Hermione had had exactly one serious relationship. She didn't even know if she was ready to date anyone else, even though it had been years since that had ended. And there really was something that bothered her about having never seen this man before. With no chance to study him beforehand, how in the world would she know how to act?

There was a loud pop, breaking Hermione's reverie and causing her to jump. A red-headed, freckly man appeared next to her. He glanced around and looked relieved not to see anyone. Then his eyes fell on her. Hermione gulped. Maybe she shouldn't have gotten to Diagon Alley so early. Maybe showing up late would have been better. She could have snuck into the restaurant, sat down mid-conversation, and not worried about being alone with anyone. Or better yet, maybe she shouldn't have come at all.

But to her great surprise, the man's face broke into a wide grin. "Hermione! I'm so glad to see you here."

"What?" she said stupidly.

George Weasley looked very amused. "I was afraid I'd get here and find my...er..._date_. But I beat them both, so now we have time to formulate a plan." Hermione gaped at him and George quirked an eyebrow in response. "Surely you didn't think I appreciated my sister's meddling?"

Finally, Hermione found her voice. "It's not that," she said.

"Then what?"

"I just --"

At that moment, two people -- a man and a woman -- strolled up to them. "You must be George!" the woman, who was petite and very pretty, Hermione couldn't help noticing, exclaimed. "Ginny's told me so much about you! I'm Fiona."

Hermione eyed the man she assumed was her date. He was tall, thin, sandy-haired, and not really bad looking, she admitted to herself grudgingly.

"Julius," he introduced himself, offering his hand.

"Hermione," she said, shaking his hand.

"Normally I don't let myself get talked into these kinds of things," Julius said to her with a slight smile. "But, well, you know Ginny. She's --"

"Persistent," Hermione finished.

"Exactly." The two of the smiled at each other, and Hermione allowed herself to consider the possibility that this evening wouldn't be so bad after all. Her date was turning out to be perfectly nice, and George didn't seem to be holding any grudges against her.

"Well, shall we go in?" Fiona asked brightly.

George shot Hermione a pained look and she stifled a snort. Really, if he hadn't managed to get out of this then she'd never stood a chance against Ginny.

Once they'd been seated at their table and ordered drinks (Hermione contented herself with just water), Julius asked, "So, Hermione, Ginny tells me you work at the Ministry. What do you do there?"

"Oh, I work in the Muggle Relations office," she replied.

"Really? You enjoy that?"

She felt herself bristling slightly at his tone. Unreasonable, she reminded herself. Plenty of people didn't think it sounded particularly exciting, especially if they recognized her name in connection with Harry Potter's. Somehow it was expected that she'd be in a more exciting field. "I'm Muggle-born," she responded in a somewhat flat tone. "Sometimes the magical community shows a lack of understanding in dealing with Muggles, and I wanted to help change that."

"I _totally_ agree with you, Hermione," Fiona said. Hermione tried not to let the surprise register on her face. "I've always thought that we're really not that considerate when it comes to Muggle parents, for example. Surely your parents must have been confused when they brought you to Diagon Alley? I mean, it must be overwhelming! And everything _takes_ so long when you're stuck behind a Muggle in a queue. They can never sort out our money." She glanced at George, sitting next to her, who only gave her a chilly look. "I never go into Muggle London for just that reason," she finished a little lamely.

There was an awkward silence around the table for a moment before Julius asked, "What do you do there, Hermione? Is it a lot of paperwork?"

"Any job at the Ministry's bound to be a lot of paperwork," George muttered.

Hermione caught his eye for a moment. "There's plenty, but I've had plenty of opportunities to contribute to policy making."

Julius gave her a smile that she couldn't help but find somewhat patronizing. "It's a good thing there are passionate people like you working in the Ministry."

There was another long pause, after which Fiona began, "George, I've been telling Ginny for awhile that I think your products are the _funniest_ things!"

"Wouldn't sell if they weren't, would they?" He looked slightly abashed at his tone and added, "Thanks, though. What do you do? Ginny was very...mysterious." It looked as though he was thinking of a different adjective.

"I'm an editor at the Daily Prophet. Julius and I work together."

"Maybe we'll run a story about your department at the Ministry," Julius remarked to Hermione. "I do a lot of human interest stories."

George, who was sipping at his drink at that moment, choked and spent the next minute with his eyes watering, trying not to cough. When he'd recovered sufficiently, he said in an overly chipper tone, "Hermione, that would be nice, don't you think? You could do an interview; maybe a photo-shoot too!"

"We normally don't take many pictures for those stories," Fiona said seriously.

Hermione nearly giggled, but instead she forced her face into a neutral look and asked George, "How's business, anyway?"

He looked happy at the chance to talk to her directly. "Excellent. We're opening another branch, did you know?"

"No, where?"

"Dublin," he told her, a note of pride in his voice. "Our first international shop. The paperwork's been a nightmare, but I think it'll be worth it. We're thinking of hiring on a couple of people from Ireland, just so we can tailor products to the area."

"Wow, congratulations!" she said feelingly.

"I _adore_ Ireland," Fiona broke in. "Have you spent much time there, George?"

"Not much. I've just been there on business."

"You should take some time for a holiday there," she glowed. "It's such a wonderful country. So quaint!"

A muscle in George's cheek twitched. "I'll remember that."

Thankfully, at that moment their food came, so Hermione was able to eat rather than converse. She was relieved when Fiona and Julius began an animated conversation (about something work related, so she didn't feel at all obligated to join in).

"So," George began, looking at her, "Fred and Angelina were excited to hear I'd be seeing you."

"They were?" Hermione asked with some surprise.

"Yes. They ask after you frequently." After a moment, he added, "I do, too."

"I'm fine," she said simply. "How are you? And Fred and Angelina?"

"All well. Angelina would like a baby. I keep telling her she's already married to one, so why should she want another?"

Laughing, Hermione decided that even if her date wasn't working out, at least she could enjoy talking with George. The fact that she _was _enjoying it so much surprised her a little. It wasn't that they hadn't gotten along in the past, but when she was younger she just couldn't approve of so much of what the Weasley twins did. And of course they were older than she was. In a way she'd found them too irresponsible. And, she was forced to concede, she'd thought they weren't as smart as their siblings and that had (unfairly) lowered her opinion of them. It had eventually dawned on her that she'd been quite wrong about that. And if the twins were anything, they certainly weren't irresponsible. Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was far too successful for that to be the case.

Eventually, dinner was finished, then coffee and dessert. At ten o'clock the four of them stood up and said their good-byes. Fiona and Julius hurried off together, but Hermione and George lingered outside for a moment.

"Will we be hearing wedding bells?" he asked her seriously.

"Not likely." Hermione leaned against a lamppost. "He wasn't exactly what I'm looking for."

"No. Nor was she. Think Ginny will be angry?"

"No. She knows better than to expect me to have success at an an enterprise like this."

George chucked. "That's what I thought, too."

"Fiona bothered you, didn't she?"

"She didn't bother you?" At Hermione's nod, he sighed and replied, "I don't care much for her type."

"I felt the same way about Julius."

"Well, I think they were perfect for each other, so Ginny had one victory tonight," George remarked. Then, with interest, he asked her, "And what does one have to do to make Hermione Granger's short list of acceptable male companions?" When this question drew a blush from her, he said, "What?"

"Nothing," she replied quickly, cursing herself for reacting so vehemently. Now he was sure to keep on about it.

"What?" he pressed.

"Nothing!" she insisted.

"Now, Hermione," he said very solemnly. "You know I have ways of making you talk."

And even though she _knew _that he'd only laugh and tease her, even though three hours ago the mere thought of speaking to this man had twisted her stomach into tight knots, she told him, "I have a list."

His look was blank. "A list?"

"A list of qualities a man has to have if I'm going to see him. Romantically."

George stared at her, a grin slowly forming on his face. "You don't."

"I do," she said with all the dignity she could muster.

Instead of laughing, George leaned towards her and asked, "So what's number one?"

She couldn't help but smile. "It's not really like that."

"Okay, then tell me what it's like. D'you want to sit down somewhere, by the way?"

"Sure." As they walked to a bench, Hermione said, "You really want to know what's on my list? It's silly, really."

"Yes, I want to know. Would I have asked otherwise?"

After hesitating a moment, Hermione said reluctantly, "All right. He has to bring me flowers, for one."

"All the time?" George probed.

Laughing, Hermione said, "Why?"

"I'm just trying to understand," he said, still serious. "It's for a human interest story I'm doing, you see --"

She snorted in undignified amusement, drawing a grin from him. Then, she replied, "No, not all the time." She thought for a moment. "When it's apparent that it's more than just a bit of fun. And after we argue."

"Even if it's your fault?"

"Absolutely."

"_Especially_ if it's your fault, I'd imagine," George mused, drawing a smirk from her. "All right, what else?"

"He has to be my intellectual equal."

"Well, that's me ruled out, then," George sighed.

"Very funny," Hermione said. "Would you like me to go on?"

"Please."

"I need to be with someone who makes me laugh. I...well, you know. I can be uptight." Suddenly, she felt ridiculous. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"My rugged good looks, maybe?"

"That makes no sense."

"I didn't think that was important."

Hermione smiled at him. "I thought you'd mock me mercilessly."

"I was tempted, but I thought you might never speak to me again," George replied idly. "I wouldn't want that."

Unsure of how to respond to that, Hermione remained silent, and there was a comfortable pause between them, so unlike the pauses in the conversation during the disastrous double date. After a few minutes, George said, "Do you mind if I ask you a question? It's kind of personal."

"Well...all right," Hermione said hesitantly, wondering if she'd regret it.

He met her eyes, this time completely serious. "Why didn't Ron meet the criteria?"

Hermione pressed her lips together and glanced at her lap to avoid his gaze. This was the topic of conversation that she'd been hoping could be avoided. "That was my fault. Ron didn't do anything wrong. You must know all about this, though."

"No, actually. Ron never talked much about it." George hesitated, then added, "You don't need to tell me; I didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

"It's all right. I...actually it might be nice to tell someone." She tucked a couple loose strands of hair behind her ears. "I told Ron I wasn't ready to marry him. And he waited and waited. But I never felt ready, and eventually he stopped waiting. I can't say I blame him." George didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. "I've since realized that I was wrong and he was right. But we've both moved on, so...that's that."

For a minute, George seemed to be weighing his words carefully. Then, cautiously, he asked, "You've never told anyone this?" Hermione shook her head. "Why me? I never thought I invited confidences."

"I don't know." She hesitated. "I did think...well, I thought your whole family hated me. I suppose it was such a relief to find out that I was wrong that...I'm spilling my darkest secrets."

"Ah." George quirked an eyebrow at her. "You really thought my family hated you? Hermione, this is a problem."

She smiled despite the fact that this had been a very real fear for years. If she'd only told someone earlier -- why _hadn't _she just told Ginny? It seemed stupid now. "I should've known better," she finally said.

George nodded in satisfaction. "We'll have to remedy it."

"How, exactly?" Hermione gave him a suspicious look. "You _do _seem to have matured slightly, but I'm still not sure I completely trust you."

"That is _precisely_ the problem. You're thinking of the George Weasley of our Hogwarts days. You need to familiarize yourself with successful-businessman George."

"Is he all that different?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

"In all the ways that count."

"And what are those?"

"Well," he quipped, "I normally let people decide that on an individual basis."

Diagon Alley had grown quiet during the time they'd been speaking. Occasionally a burst of sound would come from a pub, but more constant was the cooing of pigeons roosting under eaves. There was a slight mist creeping up the street, adding a chilly dampness to the night. Hermione shivered slightly but didn't mind, particularly. She hadn't enjoyed herself this much in ages.

George noticed the shiver, though, and in a concerned tone said, "I'm sorry, I've kept you hostage here and it's frigid."

"It's okay; I haven't minded."

Their eyes met for a moment and then darted away almost as quickly. Hermione wasn't even sure why, but there was something terrifying about the prospect of looking George in the face right then. Clearing her throat awkwardly, she said, "Maybe I _should_ go, though. It's late and I'm sure you need to get up early tomorrow."

"Oh, yeah, right. I really shouldn't've kept you so long." There almost seemed, for a fleeting instant, to be a look of disappointment in his eyes. But surely she was only imagining it. Even if he didn't think of her as the girl who had broken his brother's heart, she still must be frightfully dull to him.

"Um, George," she said quickly, before he Apparated away. "I'm glad that even if the double date was a fiasco, something went right tonight."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "Yeah. Maybe we can do it again sometime. Only without my sister's choice of company."

"Okay," Hermione replied. "Well...good-night."

"'Night," he said. With that, he Disapparated. Hermione stood there for a few more moments, enjoying the peacefulness of the quiet street, then she did the same.


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Must you make me laugh so much? It's bad enough we get along so well; say good-night and go" - Imogen Heap, "Say Goodnight and Go"

Hermione wasn't sure what had gone wrong in her life. It wasn't that anything in particular was bad or unsatisfactory, there was just a pervasive sense of incompleteness. She was twenty-six years old and her only family was her cat, Crookshanks. Somehow, it was not what she'd envisioned when she'd left Hogwarts. Everything that had gone wrong was her fault, she knew that. She hadn't...taken control of her own destiny, or whatever nonsense one wanted to call it. And she knew that dwelling on her mistakes for years and years, not being able to move on with her life and stop berating herself, was probably the root of all her problems. It was just...she didn't know _how_ to move on.

"Lumos." Hermione illuminated a light on her bedside table and sat up. For some reason, she couldn't get to sleep. Having this old internal monologue with herself wasn't going to help, either.

Unbidden, the events of the previous week's "date" came back to her. She hadn't thought much about it -- on purpose, really -- because she wasn't sure how she _should_ think about it. On one hand, she'd enjoyed talking with George and wouldn't have minded pursuing that friendship. But on the other, it would bring her deeper into the Weasley fold, and that would increase the chances of encountering Ron, and that would be bad. And she couldn't quite forget that sudden paralyzing moment where she hadn't wanted to meet George's eyes.

She sighed and picked up a book. Looked like she was going to be tired at work tomorrow.

She was. Exhausted, in fact. By the time her lunch hour rolled around, she barely knew how she'd make it through the remainder of the day. On a whim, she decided to go for a walk, since she wasn't particularly hungry. Maybe she'd get an ice cream from Florean Fortescue's.

Hermione made her way to Diagon Alley and didn't really pay attention to where she was going once she was there. It was a gloriously warm day for September and it seemed as though quite a few other people had decided to enjoy it. After awhile, she found herself walking past the flashing windows of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. She almost walked past, but at the last second, she hesitated, turned, and entered.

It had been several years since she'd been inside, but not much had changed. There were different products, of course, a few of which she picked up and looked at. It impressed her, as always, what the Weasley twins were able to accomplish.

"_Hermione_?!" someone exclaimed from behind her, startling her so much that she dropped the box of Canary Creams she'd been considering buying. When she turned around, she was promptly grabbed in a tight hug by, she realized, Angelina Weasley. She returned the hug happily, and when they separated, Angelina said, "I was hoping we'd finally see you. George said that the two of you had a good time, so you couldn't still be thinking that we all were mad at you."

Hermione smiled wryly. "I suppose my stupidity is common knowledge among the Weasleys now?"

"Good lord, no. I suspected that's why you disappeared ages ago. I'm not as thick as the Weasley men, you know. Also the twins have learned some discretion in recent years. We've kept it amongst ourselves." The young woman grinned again. "Do you have time to stay? I'd love to catch up."

"Well, technically, I'm supposed to be back at work soon," Hermione said slowly. "But you know, I never take any time off, and this seems like a perfect opportunity to do so."

"Fantastic!"

After jotting a quick note to the head of her office and using the Weasleys' owl to deliver it, Hermione and Angelina settled themselves in the flat above the shop. Hermione noticed it was actually two separate flats and wondered aloud if George was living in the other.

"Yeah," Angelina replied. "Twins, you know. I think the two of them will always be inseparable."

"It certainly looks that way," Hermione agreed. "I expect this is an...interesting place to live."

"To say the least!" Angelina laughed.

The two women spent the next several hours happily talking about what felt like everything under the sun. It was funny, Hermione mused, but she'd never felt that she had very much in common with Angelina. It had always been Ginny and Angelina who had gotten along well. Their personalities were more similar, after all. Both were athletic, outgoing, and greatly appreciated the twins' sense of humor. So Hermione certainly never would have thought she could spend four hours talking to her. Come to that, she never envisioned herself spending four hours in the Weasley twins' home.

"Hey, I heard you had a fabulous time last week with Ginny's friend," Angelina said suddenly, with an innocent look.

"Oh, please," Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. "I've tried not to think about it." When Angelina laughed, Hermione asked, "George told you all about it, then?"

"More or less. I gathered that my brother-in-law came away with a rather high opinion of you, though."

Hermione fought the urge to blush. Why in the world should she be embarrassed? So George had been glad that they'd been able to have a decent time despite having unpleasant company. She was glad too, but there was no need to _blush_. Really, she needed to stop being so uncomfortable when men were friendly. Especially men like George Weasley, in whom her interest was strictly platonic. After all, she'd practically married into this family, there really was no need to feel awkward. "We just had fun after dinner was over," Hermione replied, ignoring the fact that she hadn't been able to rationalize her embarrassment to herself. It was enough that there was no reason to feel it.

"Yeah, he mentioned that." Angelina seemed to be watching her carefully for a reaction.

Happily, she was saved from having to respond to what was basically the same statement (honestly, what was Angelina _looking_ for?) by a knock on the door.

"We're in the living room!" Angelina called.

A second later, George appeared, causing Hermione's stomach to give a little skip. Figured that he'd have to come in right in the middle of this conversation.

"Oh, hello, Hermione," he said, traces of surprise and amusement just barely evident in his tone.

Hermione gave him a little wave. "Hi."

"Fred's just behind me, Angelina, he's just had to tell off some tosser for trying to nick a trick wand." George sat down on the floor easily and glanced between the women. "Have you two just had a nice afternoon of lazing about?"

Angelina stretched and got to her feet. "I thought running the shop for three days straight qualified me for the afternoon off."

Looking at him from her seat, Hermione asked, "Have you been away?"

"Dublin again." He smirked at her. "Such a quaint city."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Angelina looking between them with a slight smile on her face. For some reason, seeing that made a completely irrational panic surge up within her and she jumped to her feet, stammering, "Good that you made it back. I should probably go; it was nice to see you, Angelina!" She couldn't handle that knowing look implying that there was anything between her and George but friendship. It could hardly even be called that! They'd spent _one_ evening talking. Really, what did that mean?

She managed to successfully avoid Fred on her hurried way out and got about twenty yards from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes before a voice rang out, "Hermione!"

For a split second, she considered not stopping. It would be a simple matter to Apparate away, and later, when she was at home, by herself, she could agonize over whether or not she'd overreacted and that she'd more than likely offended Angelina. That strange terror was back -- the terror she'd felt choking her in the instant she'd met George's eyes a week ago. How could she possibly turn around and hold a rational conversation with that sickening wriggling in her stomach?

And in the next split second, Hermione couldn't help wondering, again, what had gone wrong with her life. What was the matter with her, that she couldn't deal with a mere well-intentioned implication of romantic feelings between herself and a man? Even if it _was_ George Weasley. Was she an adult or wasn't she? Regardless of what everyone else thought, she knew perfectly well where her feelings for George stood -- firmly planted on the side of friendship.

So, with a deep breath, she stopped, turned around, and was not particularly surprised to see George hurrying towards her. When he got to her side, he just stood for a moment, looking at a loss.

Hermione broke the silence for him. "Sorry. That was stupid of me."

He looked torn between confusion and amusement. Finally, he asked, "You've gone a bit mad, haven't you, Granger?"

The good-natured tone this query was delivered in left her no choice, really, but to laugh, rather helplessly, for a minute or two. "I have," she finally replied. "I really think I have. Do you..." She paused for just an instant, then forged ahead, "Do you want to get dinner?"

He cocked his head at her, smiling now. "I believe it was I who originally suggested that we do just that. Which," he added, "is a yes. Did you have someplace specific in mind?"

For some reason, this brought a huge grin to her face. "I did, in fact."

Hermione didn't consider it her deepest, darkest secret that she loved the Muggle fish and chips takeaway at the end of her street, but it wasn't something she spread around. George was delighted, though, and even more so by her suggestion that they eat in the park across from her house.

"You know, Hermione, you're a woman of many mysteries."

She popped a chip into her mouth and raised her eyebrows at him. "How so?"

"Well, for one, I now know what your favorite restaurant is."

She giggled (as a more detached part of her was somewhat disgusted to note). "That surprises you?"

"Just a little." He watched her chew for a moment. Normally, Hermione knew, she would find this extremely embarrassing, but there was something about George that made her feel as though it would be all right to be herself. Greasy fish and chips place and all. And she wasn't stupid, she knew what that meant -- or rather, what it could mean. Tomorrow she would worry about it. Tonight she just wanted to talk to someone who made her laugh.

George stole one of her chips, as he'd already finished his. "Next I'll find out you're some sort of circus performer."

"Like a clown?" she asked.

"I was thinking more along the lines of lion-tamer." He leaned back on the bench and looked at her. "Something that requires you to stare into the jaws of death defiantly on a daily basis."

"Right, that's me. Hermione Granger, the death-defying," she scoffed.

Though he smiled, he replied in a more serious tone, "But that last bit's true, isn't it?"

Hermione looked away from him, uncomfortable, as always, when her part in Voldemort's vanquishing came up. "I was just helping Harry. He did the really dangerous things."

"If you insist. But if you don't mind, I'm going to keep thinking of you as a lion-tamer."

She was strangely flattered but decided to change the subject. After a pause, she said, "I know most wizards can't be bothered with anything Muggle, but I suppose I still can't help but love so much of the Muggle world." As the words left her mouth, she realized belatedly that part of her had been testing his reaction to this part of her. And that annoyed her. She didn't want to test him. She didn't want to play stupid mind games.

"Yeah, to be honest, I used to think my dad's obsession with Muggles was sort of daft, but I've developed an appreciation." He gave her a sidelong look. "Helps that I know such an impressive Muggle-born woman."

She couldn't help it, she turned bright red. George found this so funny that a good portion of his swallow of fizzy drink came out his nose. He spluttered for about thirty seconds, which caused Hermione to laugh, which in turn made George burst into loud guffaws. Several passersby glanced at them with both amused and disapproving looks.

When they'd both recovered sufficiently enough to speak, Hermione said primly, "You really shouldn't say things like that."

"Why ever not?" George asked innocently.

She pursed her lips in an attempt to not break out smiling. "Because," she said airily, "you hardly know me."

"That's completely and utterly untrue. In fact, it's slander," George replied melodramatically. When she raised her eyebrows at him, he conceded, "All right, there may be some truth to that statement. But that's precisely _why_ one needs to make comments like that."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. There's no better way to get to know someone than embarrassing them. Didn't you know?"

It was a bit ridiculous, Hermione reflected, how often she laughed around George. But then again, he spent quite a fair amount of time laughing, too, and she'd never thought she was particularly humorous. The thought made her stomach flutter ever-so-slightly.

Don't, she warned herself sternly. Do _not_ develop butterflies, or strange lurches, or any other wriggly feelings in the stomach. Not for George.

He took her now empty wrappers from her and tossed them neatly into a rubbish bin, then got to his feet and offered her his hand. "Shall we walk around this lovely park of yours?"

After a moment's deliberation, she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Immediately, it became clear that this was a mistake. It sounded like something out of a silly article in Witch Weekly, but she really felt as though a bolt of electricity went through her when their hands touched. And as if that wasn't bad enough, she became very aware of how warm his grip was. It was pleasantly strong, too -- the kind of grip that one could trust not to loosen.

Belatedly, she realized how very, very close they were now standing. Close enough to feel the warmth of his body, close enough to smell him, close enough to know that she was too close.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to George and he took a step back, dropping her hand simultaneously. There was a funny look in his eyes and his voice sounded suddenly strained as he said, "Or, er, maybe I'd better let you go home."

She swallowed in what felt like a very loud manner. Here he was, offering to put a stop to...whatever had just happened, and she was actually contemplating saying no! It was a good thing George appeared to have more sense than her at the moment. Still, it was something of a wrench to agree, "It _is_ getting a bit dark."

"Well." George looked incredibly uncomfortable, and at any other time this would have been amusing, since both of the Weasley twins had made it their express goals in life to make others feel awkward. But now Hermione just couldn't help but think that she'd done something to imply that she perhaps felt something that she mostly certainly did _not_, and that had scared him into behaving in a thoroughly un-Weasley-twin-like manner. "Well," he said again, clearing his throat, "good-night, Hermione."

It sounded so oddly formal, coming from him, and she mumbled some vague response before he turned and walked away.

"George!" she called so suddenly that she surprised even herself. Immediately, he stopped and looked back at her, but she just said, "I'll see you around."

"Yeah." His eyes met hers for one incredibly long moment, and then he strode off.

Hermione watched him, a dull ache building in her chest, for several seconds, before she, too, turned around. Fists clenched, she slowly made her way back to her house.


	3. Chapter 3

3

"Ouch, I have lost myself again. Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found. Yeah, I think that I might break. Lost myself again and I feel unsafe." -- Sia, "Breathe Me"

For the next couple weeks, Hermione went about the business of life rather dully. Oh, she tried to convince herself that she was enjoying her project at work and that all the time alone meant she could really delve into the books she'd been meaning to read, but deep down she knew that yes, something was wrong in her life, but that this time, she knew exactly what it was. Fact: she enjoyed George Weasley's company. Very much. Too much, actually. Fact: she did not want anything more, or even to feel anything more, for him than friendship. Fact: she had frightened him off.

"Well, honestly, what do you expect your ex-boyfriend's brother to do when you act like a smitten twit around him?" she muttered to herself angrily. It was no wonder he'd bolted; she'd nearly fooled herself into thinking she felt something...more for him. What must he have thought?

Tonight was another late night for her at the Ministry and everyone else had left. Or so she'd thought, but someone knocked gently at her door at about half six.

Ginny entered cautiously. "My dad and Percy said they'd heard you've been working late," she said by way of explanation. "How are you?"

Looking up at her friend wearily, Hermione replied unconvincingly, "I'm fine."

"It's just that you haven't Flooed in awhile," Ginny said. "And...well, Fred told me you'd been at the shop, and that George has been acting strange since then, and I just wondered if everything's...all right." She gave Hermione a concerned look. "I just wanted to make certain nothing happened to you. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Nothing's happened to me," Hermione replied, attempting to smile. "But thank you, Ginny."

"Would you like to have dinner with Harry and me, then?" Ginny asked, the worried look still on her face.

Hermione kept the attempted smile on her face. "Thanks, but really, I'm fine. I've still got a bit more work to do anyway. But I'll stop over soon."

"Okay," Ginny said reluctantly. "If you're absolutely sure."

"I am."

Of course, this was something of a lie, because she had very little left to do for the day and she Apparated home not fifteen minutes later. After changing into more comfortable clothes, she opened the front door to bring in the post. To her surprise, there was a bouquet of daisies which, upon closer inspection, were shifting colors slowly. There was no note, but Hermione thought she knew who they were from.

With a wan smile, she filled a vase with water and put the daisies in it.

On Saturday morning, Hermione was surprised to hear a knock on her door. Only slightly less surprised, actually, than she was when she opened it.

"Hi," George said.

Her first thought was one of relief that she wasn't still in her pyjamas. Then she realized she should say something. "Hi. Um. Do you want to come in?"

This time _he_ looked surprised, but with a nod, he stepped inside.

"You can have a seat," she told him, gesturing to the sofa in the living room. "Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"No, I'm fine," he replied, watching her as she sat in a chair across from him. She made certain to keep the coffee table between them.

"You got the flowers," George finally commented.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, by the way. I meant to post you something about that."

"S'okay," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Anyway, the reason I called in was to apologize to you."

With a start, Hermione asked, "Why?"

"Because I acted like a twat towards you," he said frankly. "And I never even managed to work out why."

For a minute, there was a silence broken only the the ticking of a clock, but eventually Hermione said, "You didn't act that way."

"Well, I appreciate your generosity, but I stand by my assessment."

They looked at each other across the table while Hermione tried to decide whether or not she should say anything else. George's eyes were very warm, she noted idly. It would be easy to trust someone with those eyes, and --

Wait. Stop. What was she thinking? George was watching her, the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. But he couldn't possibly know what she was thinking about. Clearing her throat, Hermione said, "I'm glad you stopped by. I was worried I'd become too much for you."

He cocked his head. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know." She leaned back in her chair.

"No, I don't," he replied, sounding bemused. "Could you be referring to a drug habit? Perhaps a penchant for chains and leather?"

Hermione snorted. "If by drug habit you mean headache relievers, then yes, I do indulge rather frequently."

"What about the chains and leather?" he asked slyly.

She raised her eyebrows. "I've got some kidskin gloves."

"Oho, Hermione, you've got quite the wild side."

Biting her lip quickly to hold back her laughter, she looked down at her lap. It felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her, and though she didn't want to admit it to herself, it had a great deal to do with George being there. And, more importantly, enjoying her company, seemingly as much as she was enjoying his.

"You look very thoughtful," he said, amusement still glinting in his eyes.

"I'm told I look that way quite frequently," she responded, reddening a little.

That made him smile again. Then, leaning forward and looking her directly in the eye, he said, "Listen, Hermione, Fred and I are having a bit of a party this weekend. I was wondering if you'd like to come?"

A little taken aback, Hermione just stammered, "Er..."

George cast his eyes sideways and added, "Of course if you'd rather not that's fine."

"No," Hermione said quickly, wanting more than anything to make that crestfallen look disappear from his face. "I mean, I'd love to go. I just wasn't expecting any sort of invitation today."

At these words, it looked as though George was trying to mask how delighted he was at her answer, though he was doing poor job of it. She couldn't quite quash the warm feeling that gave her.

"Great," he said. "I was hoping you'd say that. It's nothing big. I just..." He shrugged and laughed a little at his own loss for words. "I just wanted you to come. Bit mad, really. But there you are."

Hermione wondered if he could hear her heart pounding, because it had gotten deafening to her the minute he'd said he wanted her there. "Well," she said in an attempt to hide this, "as you can probably imagine, I'm normally the life of the party."

He caught her eye again and grinned. "Why do you think I invited you? These gatherings are so dull normally. We need someone to liven things up." After saying this, something seemed to occur to him, and he sobered abruptly. "I suppose I should tell you that Ron will be there."

"Ron?" she asked blankly.

"He'll _probably_ be there," George amended. He gave her a look that almost seemed worried. "Is that a problem? I know that you're uncomfortable around him, but he's not angry at you. I really don't think he'll give you any trouble."

It's not that, Hermione wanted to laugh. Of course her guilt was still there. But it wasn't that at all that made her insides turn to ice. It was that, these days, she'd begun to grudgingly admit to herself that her feelings for George were not entirely platonic. She'd had to revise her strategy from fighting that fact to merely resolving not to act upon it. And she knew from experience that she was good at not acting on feelings. The length of her relationship with Ron was a testament to that.

George was watching her carefully. "Do you not want to come now?"

"No," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm still coming. I wouldn't want you to be stuck with a boring party, after all." That made him laugh, and she added as an afterthought, "Am I supposed to bring something?"

"Just your lovely self." Getting to his feet, George asked, "So will I see you next Saturday? Eightish?"

"I'm looking forward to it," Hermione replied.

Hermione surprised herself by not having second thoughts about accepting George's invitation as Saturday approached. In fact, she actually began to get excited. True, the prospect of seeing Ron was daunting. But she knew that this was something she should have gotten over years ago. After all, it wasn't as though she wanted to be with Ron. She just felt guilty. Guilty about not wanting to be with him. It had been eating away at her for longer than she cared to admit.

Of course, feeling...the way she did about Ron's brother was perhaps not the best way to move past the guilt. Maybe her mind was seeking some way of transferring it so she could give herself the illusion of having moved on. That would be stupid, though. At the moment, she was more confused than anything else about George. It was so hard to know what to do. Should she ignore her...possibly-more-than-platonic feelings? Suppress them? Give in to them? She certainly couldn't _act_ on them.

What if, part of her asked slyly, _he_ did?

And Hermione just had to hope that she wouldn't need to deal with that.

Saturday arrived, and at the appointed time, she Apparated to Diagon Alley. Harry and Ginny appeared in front of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at nearly the same time she did, and before Hermione even had a chance to say hello, Ginny informed her, "Ron's not coming. So you can stop worrying and enjoy yourself."

"Oh." Hermione smiled at her. "I wasn't, actually. Worrying, that is. Not too much, at least."

"Well, that's a first."

They went inside together and followed the sound of thumping bass up to Fred and Angelina's flat. Angelina opened the door and greeted the three of them, inviting them in. When she stepped inside, Hermione couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed. Clearly, "big" meant something different to George than it did to her. There were at least twenty people there, and though many were part of the Weasley clan, there were still a fair number that she didn't recognize.

After a minute, she spotted George at the other side of the room speaking with his brother Bill. He saw her at nearly the same moment and, excusing himself from the conversation, made his way over to her.

"You look fantastic," George told her.

Hermione flushed in response. She'd barely given any thought to her appearance, truthfully. Not that it wasn't good to know that George thought she looked nice. "Thanks."

"Can I get you anything? Particularly beer? We're counting on people getting spectacularly plastered so it's not cluttering up our flats." He looked at Harry and Ginny. "How about you two? Harry, I know you want something. You're married to my sister, after all."

Harry laughed while Ginny rolled her eyes. "Sure," he answered. When George disappeared into the kitchen, both of them turned and looked at Hermione. "What was that?" Harry asked her.

"Nothing," Hermione said defensively.

Smirking, Ginny said, "I'm not sure if it qualifies as "nothing" when the host of the party rushes over to you to tell you how great you look."

"It's nothing," Hermione insisted.

"If you say so," Ginny replied, as George returned with two open bottles.

"Drink up," he said, handing them to Ginny and Harry.

By this point, the other Weasley boys had realized she was there and she spent the next two hours talking to one after another, plus their respective wives. Fleur and Penelope were both pregnant, Charlie and his wife (a Romanian woman whose name Hermione had no hope of pronouncing) were moving to England, Percy engaged her in talk of Ministry bureaucratic politics for about twenty minutes, and Fred pretended to be outraged that Hermione had been giving him the slip since her reintroduction into the Weasley world. About midway through the onslaught she felt a sudden warm glow that this family still cared about her. She'd really missed the feeling of being with all of them.

Eventually George returned to her side and Fred, with a knowing look at his twin, surrendered Hermione's attention. "Hey," he said to her with a smile. "My family's been monopolizing you all night."

Smiling back at him, she replied, "Well, I wouldn't want to interfere with your duties as host."

"Right, I'm sure you wouldn't," he replied in a playfully sarcastic tone. Then, for a second, he just looked at her, before asking, "Do you want to go up on the roof to get some air?"

She met his eyes, for once not feeling that irrational fear. Maybe it was because she'd had a beer. Maybe it was just the relaxed atmosphere of the party. But there was nothing she wanted to do more than spend time with George at that moment. "Yeah, that would be nice."

There was a staircase that opened up onto the roof of the building and the two of them climbed it. The night air was surprisingly cool and Hermione was glad she'd brought a jumper. Leaning against the rail, she said idly, "Thanks for inviting me tonight. I'm having fun." She bit her lip and stared across the city. "I don't do that enough."

George stood next to her, closer than she normally would feel comfortable with. Everything, somehow, was different tonight, though. "I'm glad you came." He grinned at her. "Even if I've barely had a chance to speak with you."

"We're talking now," she pointed out.

"Good observation," he teased her.

With a tiny smirk, Hermione looked at him. "In fact, we're talking now at the expense of all your other guests. Surely you'd rather be mingling with them?"

He shot her a nonplussed look. "I hope you're joking."

"Sort of."

"If I wanted to be down there, I would be." He returned her smirk. "And yes, that _does_ mean that what I want to be doing right now is standing here with you."

It was at that moment that some of her familiar unease returned, just when she least wanted it to. Why was she doing this to herself? Glancing away from him, she said, "I'm not sure why. There must be more interesting people downstairs."

George leaned his elbow on the rail and rested his chin on his hand, staring at her. "While of course _you_ must feel that way about me, I'm afraid I have to confess that I find you the most interesting person here. Why do you think I invited you if I didn't want to spend any time with you?"

Hermione shrugged. "Insanity?"

"It _does_ run in the family, but I'm not afflicted just yet."

He flashed her a smile again, that smile that made her feel as though she was melting and burning inside at the same time. She just wanted to let herself go, to tumble headlong into this feeling. To see that smile every day, to be close enough to him to feel the heat of his body like she was now, to have his hands on her --

With an almighty lurch, she wrenched herself away from that line of thinking. If this was what one beer could do to her, maybe it was time to swear off drinking. There was no point in having thoughts like that, after all. She couldn't follow through. _Wouldn't_ follow through.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, looking slightly concerned.

"Er, yeah." Hermione smiled -- she hoped -- lightly. "I think I just had too much to drink."

Narrowing his eyes at her, he said, "You only had one bottle."

"I've never held my liquor well."

"Hm." His eyes were still narrowed in suspicion, but after a second he laughed and remarked, "You'd be a cheap date."

Her eyebrows shot up at that. "Does that mean you get girls drunk when you take them out?"

"What other way _is_ there to take a girl out?" he asked, sounding puzzled. When she just giggled, George grinned. For a moment, he seemed to hesitate, just on the brink of something, and then he said nonchalantly, "Speaking of going out, I heard about some new restaurant up Bath way. Supposed to be nice. I wondered if you'd like to go sometime? With me? If you're not too busy, that is."

The sudden nervousness in his tone made her smile. Somehow it also soothed her anxiety a little, too. Maybe he had as little clue as she did about how to proceed with this.

Now, her sensible side cautioned her, a nice dinner will involve dressing up, wine, candlelight, a romantic atmosphere...in other words, _not_ an activity to engage in if she wanted this situation to remain under her control. If she did this, things could spiral. Rapidly.

But then, when was the last time she'd been asked out like this? Right after she and Ron had split up, she recalled with an inward grimace. She'd thought it would boost her self-confidence to accept an invitation from a coworker, but all it had accomplished was making her second guess the decision to break up with Ron.

She was beyond second guessing herself now, though.

"Yes, I'd love to," she answered.

"You would?" George said, sounding happily surprised.

Raising an eyebrow, Hermione asked, "If you expected a different answer, why did you ask?"

"Oh, you know, you have to take chances in life. And I'm a great risk-taker."

She wondered if he'd meant his words to have another meaning edging them. "I wouldn't exactly call eating out with me a risk."

For just a brief flash of a moment, George seemed to be fighting an urge to say something. However, the moment passed, and he simply smiled warmly at her. "Want to go next Friday?"

"Sure."

The gazed at each other for several incredibly long seconds. Hermione held herself very still, barely breathing, frozen in indecision. Was he going to make some kind of move? What in the world would she do if that happened? It seemed entirely possible that she must just...have some sort of breakdown. Go totally mental.

But the moment was broken by the squeal of a door opening and Fred popping his head outside. His eyes flicked between the two of them, and George took a step away from Hermione, asking, "What's up?"

"Er, I think you should come downstairs for a second," Fred said, his voice containing just a hint of strain.

George gave him a perplexed look but turned back to Hermione to say, "I'll be right back."

"Oh, I think I'll come downstairs too. I could use the toilet."

As she reentered the flat with him, she saw him stiffen slightly but decided to go use the loo before trying to find out why. While she was inside, she washed her face. The cool water was calming; it made her feel more in control of herself. More in control of her emotions. If Fred hadn't come up to the roof, if he hadn't interrupted...well, she wasn't sure if she would have kept her head. What if George had kissed her? She met her own eyes in her reflection and surprised herself by breaking into a grin. Maybe she could've handled it. In fact, maybe she would have rather liked it.

Still grinning, she opened the door and went back to the living room. There, she stopped dead, staring wide-eyed at the scene in front of her.

George was standing with a woman she'd never seen. Her arms were around his neck and she was kissing him passionately. Dimly, Hermione registered Ginny trying to get her attention from the other side of the room and starting to approach. But Hermione's awareness had narrowed to George lip-locked with this woman and she didn't bother to think what Ginny might have to say, nor how it would look if she just Disapparated from the middle of the party.

Which was exactly what she did.


	4. Chapter 4

4

"I must be dreaming for I don't fall in love lawlessly. I must be dreaming or pinch me to waking." -- Frou Frou, "Must Be Dreaming"

Crookshanks yowled in surprise when Hermione appeared suddenly in her living room. On the sofa to be exact, since she hadn't been devoting the usual amount of concentration to the spell. She teetered for a couple seconds before tumbling backwards and landing hard on her backside. Luckily, she stayed on the sofa, so no major damage was done.

The evening had certainly taken a turn for the worse. She didn't want to think about what she'd just seen, because she couldn't understand it or face it. Just wanting to go to bed and sleep, she got up and started to walk upstairs to her bedroom.

Then there was an urgent pounding on the door and a voice calling, "Hermione? Hermione, are you there?"

She hesitated on the bottom step. She could just go to bed; let him knock away and yell himself hoarse. There'd be no way for him to know she was there. And why should she speak to him? After that? After what she'd just seen?

"Hermione, _please_ let me in!"

With a sigh, she turned around and went to open the door, feeling that she'd probably regret it.

George was standing there, a desperate expression on his face. Before he could say anything, Hermione snarled, "Let me guess, that wasn't what it looked like?" She took a certain savage pleasure in searching his face for any lipstick marks from the unfamiliar woman. There were none that she could see.

He looked stung, as though he'd actually taken a physical blow from her. "It wasn't," he said quietly. When she refused to say anything, he sighed and asked, "Please, Hermione, can't I come in and try to explain? Please? And if it's not good enough you can kick me out, I swear."

She wanted to say no. It was stupid, but he'd hurt her, and she didn't care what he had to say. How could that have been a misunderstanding? She knew what she'd seen.

But he looked so desperate, so earnest, standing there out on her front step. "Okay," she muttered, and stood aside so he could enter. Hermione shut the door and turned to stare at him, waiting for him to say something.

For a second or two, he seemed to cast around for the right words. Finally, he said, "I had a girlfriend for awhile. Well, a long time, really. And I broke up with her." He paused and looked down at his feet. "She could have taken it better."

"Was that her?" Hermione asked, some of the sharp edge of anger leaking from her voice.

George nodded. "Totally, completely pissed. Barely could speak. It's a wonder she even got up the stairs." He swallowed and looked back up, meeting her eyes. "Fred came to tell me she was there because she kept insisting on seeing me. Wouldn't leave. I just went to tell her to get out and in the middle of it she fell on me." He bit his lip and looked at her imploringly. "I'm not such a tosser that I'd ask you to dinner and then go snog my ex-girlfriend."

Suddenly, Hermione couldn't look at him anymore. She just wanted to go to sleep. This was too much. She hated that George had made her feel this way. Felt stupid that he had. And even more stupid that she'd reacted this way and made a fool of herself. "It's okay," she mumbled. "Don't worry."

The imploring expression on his face did not disappear. "Please don't be upset."

She tried to give him a weak smile but failed. "I'm not. I won't be. Can I...can we just talk later? Tomorrow? I'm so tired."

George nodded. "Of course. Yeah. You know where to find me whenever you want." He took a step towards her, then stopped and hesitated. Hermione met his eyes, and he seemed to come to a decision. Swiftly, he kissed her cheek, and before she could react, he was already out the door.

Despite herself, she smiled wearily before trudging up the stairs to go to bed.

The following Friday, he showed up on her doorstep with a giant bouquet of roses. Hermione couldn't help laughing as she took them, saying, "I thought I had you convinced that you didn't need to apologize anymore! Especially since these must have cost a fortune."

He shrugged and grinned easily. "I live by the rule that one should always apologize one more time." When she arched her eyebrows doubtfully, he amended, "At least, when it comes to pretty girls."

Hermione said nothing but turned away, smirking, to put the flowers in a vase. "You look nice," she told him after a moment, when she was safely out of sight in the kitchen. He did look very smart; she felt underdressed next to him.

But when she said this last part to him, he scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous. You _always_ look stunning."

She rolled her eyes in mock-exasperation and said, "You don't seem to have learned the line between flattery and shameless lying," which made him laugh.

After the scene at the party on Saturday, Hermione and George had been forced, via several long, circuitous conversations, to come to an uneasy, unspoken agreement about the nature of their relationship. That is, they both realized that they had feelings for each other that mere friends did not possess. Because after all, one didn't have a fit at the sight of a friend kissing another woman. But on the other hand, neither of them had acted yet. Hermione was still resolved not to, and she just assumed that George must have similar issues with getting involved.

She had wondered if this dinner would still happen at all, if it wouldn't be uncomfortable, but George had been jokingly aghast at the suggestion. And as he was so determined to take her out, she didn't feel obligated to refuse. More than that, she had determined that she was going to have a marvelous time. There would be no awkwardness, no guilt. She just wanted to enjoy herself.

And she did. Dinner was fantastic, and afterwards they strolled along the bank of the River Avon. It was a surprisingly warm night for late September and Hermione was able to slip off her jumper while they walked. She was impressed with herself for not feeling strange about baring her shoulders in front of George.

During a lull in their conversation, she was able to take the opportunity to say, "Thank you for dinner, George. It really was lovely."

"It was my pleasure," George replied gallantly. "Thank you for giving me the honor of your company."

Bath really was beautiful by night. The lights from the town reflecting on the water made the river look like a twinkling fairyland, and the sky was a clear, deep, inky color dotted with stars. If ever there was a time when she might lose her inhibitions, it was then.

She gave George a sidelong look, wondering if the romanticism of the night was having any effect on him. Wondering if he even needed this kind of atmosphere to affect him. After a second, she dropped this line of thinking. It would lead to feeling awkward, which was exactly what she wanted to avoid.

"It's funny, isn't it?" George said suddenly, in a very musing voice.

"What?"

"This." He made a vague gesture that seemed to encompass the two of them. "If someone had told me that two months ago I'd be eating at fancy restaurants with Hermione Granger, I'd've laughed in his face."

"Why's that?" she questioned, raising her eyebrows.

He snorted. "Well, the obvious reason. And you're so brainy. I'm still amazed you ever laugh at a word I say."

"Well," Hermione retorted with a smile playing about her lips, "don't you think it's quite the same for me? You were always so popular. And you're funny. Anyway, I don't think you give yourself enough credit. You and Fred are more clever than I am. You get to do something you love _and_ make money."

"Don't kid yourself, you're much cleverer than me," George said with a grin.

She gave him a playful smile. "If you insist."

"Knew you'd see the light."

Their eyes met for a lingering moment and Hermione's heart seemed to jump. There was an odd expression on his face, one she couldn't read, and she had to wonder if there wasn't a similar look on hers. Insanely, she felt herself wanting to touch him, somehow, just to see how he felt... Right, she told herself scathingly. Totally innocent. You just want to _see_. It's just academic interest.

Still looking at her, George asked, "Do you want to do this again?"

Startled, she asked, "What?"

That made him smirk, almost as if he knew her mind had been elsewhere (and where it had been). "Dinner."

"Oh." She thought quickly. Every time she saw him made it harder to disentangle herself. And she wanted to, didn't she? Eventually? So really, it would be better not to. For both of them.

And how many times had she told herself this?

"Yeah," she told him. "When?"

So it went. For months. Months went by with them seeing each other every week, speaking by Floo powder, growing closer and closer, even while neither made any move to advance things past a certain point. Every so often their gazes would lock and Hermione would wonder if some force was just going to push them together, so that suddenly she would find herself in his arms without knowing how she got there. She wouldn't have minded. Because, to be frank, she thought it would take a mysterious outside force to push them together. She certainly wasn't going to do it. From the looks of things, George wasn't going to, either. And she couldn't decide if she preferred things this way or not. It wasn't as though it kept things uncomplicated.

Harry reminded her of this fact while they were eating lunch out one day in January. "Now, your life _could_ be more complicated," he conceded, "but as things stand now, it's not exactly simple."

"Any suggestions, then?" Hermione asked, looking at him curiously.

He sighed. "No. To be honest, Hermione, I think life would have been a lot easier for all of us if you'd just married Ron." When she opened her mouth to retort with something fittingly cutting, he interrupted, "And I'm _not_ saying I would've wanted you to be unhappy. But you must be able to appreciate that your breaking up put me in an uncomfortable position. I mean, you're both my best friends, but no matter what happened, one of you was going to end up unhappy. And I obviously wasn't going to, and couldn't, choose sides." Hermione was now staring at her plate while she listened to him. "And I want you to do what will make you happiest. I know that staying with Ron wouldn't have done it. And don't bother denying you don't still torture yourself about it."

"I'm not denying it," Hermione snorted.

"Look." Harry paused and thought for a moment. "I don't know what's happening with you and George."

"That makes two of us."

Chuckling a little, Harry went on, "But I don't think that pretending _nothing's_ happening is the answer."

She covered her face. "I don't want to break Ron's heart again."

Harry guffawed, causing her to jump. "Break his heart? Are you joking? Hermione, for one thing, Ron is not the fragile man you seem to think he is. For another, he's handled all of this a lot better than you have. Of course he got hurt, but he dealt with it and moved on with his life. And if you think he doesn't know that George has been seeing you...well, think again."

"Oh god. I hadn't...I mean, it didn't...how long has he known?" she asked in a horrified whisper.

"Ages. But you know what? It's been three years. It's okay. You really just have to let go."

"But, it's just..." Hermione made a face. "Oh, Harry, you can't really want to talk about this with me. Wait until Ginny's around."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not fussed. If you'd rather talk to Ginny, you can, but I don't mind."

"No, it's not that I'd rather talk to Ginny. I just don't want to bother you with this."

He shook his head, smiling. "I'm happy to help. If it helps, of course."

"It does," she replied, returning his smile wanly. "So what advice do you have for me?"

"Well." Harry seemed to be weighing his words carefully. "I know you feel guilty that you hurt Ron's feelings. And I know you don't want to hurt his feelings even more by getting involved with his brother. But don't you think you just might end up hurting George if you carry on like this?"

She gaped at him for a second, alternately astounded by the statement and the fact that Harry had grown so perceptive since she'd first met him. "Hurt George?"

"It hasn't occurred to you that he might fancy you?"

Shifting uncomfortably, she replied, "Yes, but...certainly not that much."

Harry, sounding amused, told her, "You know best, I suppose; you're there."

But Hermione couldn't help thinking that Harry wasn't being _quite_ truthful. She thought about their conversation a great deal in the following days. Though it was hard to believe that George could possibly feel strongly enough about her that he could get hurt, she entertained the idea. And, if possible, she grew even more confused.

For several agonizing nights, she tossed and turned in bed (making for hazy days at work the following mornings), wondering what she should do, trying to steel herself in the event that she had to make a difficult decision. One thing she knew -- this dancing around that she and George had been doing needed to end. It was doing neither of them any good. She just didn't understand why, if George liked her so much, he hadn't done anything about it. He wasn't exactly inhibited. Wouldn't he say or do _something_? Didn't he know by now that even if she wanted to, she wouldn't make an advance?

And there, there was the question. Did she want to? Did she want to be with him? Did she...love him? Even thinking the word sent a thrill of terror through her. How could this have happened? She'd let herself fall in love with George Weasley almost without realizing it, thinking it was impossible that it could happen. They were too different, the two of them, weren't they? She'd thought so. She'd thought he was the kind of man to ignore women like her. And she'd thought of herself as rational, deliberate, logical. _Not_ the kind of woman to fall for a practical joker. But there it was. It felt like a dream, coming to this realization.

So, the problem was, what to do? Let go of her guilt, Harry had urged her. She knew she should. It was just _doing_ it that was so difficult. How did one cast away something that had been with her for so long? She was so used to feeling it, like a yoke around her neck, that she wondered if maybe she wouldn't be herself anymore if it were gone. And even though she wanted nothing more than to not be shackled to guilt any longer, she didn't know how to loose the shackles.

Would it be possible, then, to stop seeing George? Because she couldn't bear the thought of hurting him. And maybe if she broke cleanly with him now, he wouldn't be hurt.

The thought seemed to gouge a hollow out of her chest. It had been so long since she'd felt this way. This part of love was what everyone always forgot. The aching pain that went along with the euphoria. She was tired of it. She'd spent so long with the pain and had little of the happiness that should have gone along with it. So what to do?

Well. Tomorrow she was seeing George. She would speak to him about this. There needed to be a resolution.

Hermione didn't particularly enjoy herself the next day while she and George sat around her house talking. Oh, she tried. She made a valiant effort to appear cheerful, but George noticed that something was quite obviously wrong. When he questioned her about it, she took a slow, deep breath.

"Well, I actually...wanted to talk to you about that."

He gave her a serious look. "It's something that concerns me, then."

She nodded, feeling miserable. "George, I just have to ask...what is this that we're doing?"

A ghost of a smile passed over his face. "D'you mean that literally?" When she just looked away, he sobered quickly. "To be honest, Hermione, I don't think I know any better than you do. I mean, obviously I like you. I like spending time with you. So..." He shrugged a bit helplessly.

He liked her? What did _that_ mean? "Okay. Well, um...it's just...um." Chewing her lip, she pondered how best to say it. She needed to make sure that this business with Ron being her former fiancé was totally out in the open, that if they were to get involved it wouldn't be hanging oppressively over them. Because if they did and it was, whatever they had would be dead before it began. "I guess I just wanted to talk about...what Ron means to me."

Judging by the way George's face froze, this had been the wrong choice of wording. "Ah," he choked out, "I see." There was a horrible sort of grimace of a smile on his face. "That's okay, Hermione. I think I have a good idea of what you're going to say."

He got to his feet quickly, the horrible smile still stuck on his face. Feeling panic rising within her at how wrong this was going, Hermione followed suit and said, "No, I don't think --"

"Really, it's fine, you don't have to bother." George's expression was rigid. "Clearly I've misunderstood something."

"That's the thing, you --"

"I'll see you around, Hermione. Okay?" he cut her off. And before she could stop him, he was gone, leaving her standing coldly in her living room by herself.


	5. Chapter 5

5

"I said, 'I've got to be honest, I've been waiting for you all my life.' For so long I thought I was asylum bound, but just seeing you makes me think twice. And being with you here makes me sane; I fear I'll go crazy if you leave my side." -- Dashboard Confessional, "As Lovers Go"

"I hardly even know what happened, Gin. Let alone how to fix it." Hermione looked at her friend miserably. "I wanted to tell him that I was moving past what I did to Ron, but he thought...I don't know, I suppose he thought I was about to say I still _loved_ Ron."

Ginny pushed a cup of tea across the counter, sympathy writ large on her face. "You have to talk to him, Hermione. I know he's been a right git, but he's too thick to ever realize that he might've made a mistake." She rolled her eyes. "Honestly, I love my brothers, but sometimes..."

With a half-hearted laugh, Hermione said, "Talking to him sounds fantastic in theory, but I have no idea what I'd say."

"The truth."

"I tried that." Hermione snorted disparagingly. "Anyway, I'm not even sure what the truth is."

"The truth is," Ginny supplied, "that the pair of you are losing it. One of you has to just say something before you end up in St. Mungo's."

Laughing more genuinely, Hermione replied, "I think I may belong there already."

"Well, I won't argue with that." Ginny offered her friend a comforting smile. "I really think you just need to tell him exactly how you feel. Don't mince words. Corner him; get him alone somewhere and don't let him interrupt you." She reached over and patted Hermione's hand. "He'll listen to you."

Taking a sip of her tea, Hermione said, "I won't be surprised if he runs at the first sight of me. Now he knows for sure that I've got all this baggage."

"Hermione." Ginny fixed her with a steady, direct look. "We've all got baggage. You just have to live with dragging it around. You're a young, beautiful, intelligent, funny woman, and there's no reason for you to be wallowing in self-pity."

She snorted again. "This is a nice tactic to make me feel better."

Ginny shrugged and, with a giggle, replied, "It's working, isn't it?"

"Surprisingly, yes. Though I'm not overly fond of the word "wallowing," so that probably has something to do with it. I hate to have it applied to me." Hermione was interrupted by the chiming of the doorbell.

Ginny raised her eyebrows and responded to Hermione's questioning look, "I've no idea who it is."

She went to answer the door and Hermione stiffened when she heard the voice that greeted her. In a second, the visitor had come into the kitchen, a wide grin on his face. But when his eyes fell on Hermione, perched on a stool, mug half-raised to her lips, he stopped. His smile faltered a little.

"Hi, Ron," Hermione said quietly.

Ron ducked his head for a second, but when he looked back at her, the smile had returned to his face. "Hey," he replied. "How are you?"

Ginny appeared behind Ron then, looking anxious, but Hermione met her eyes and gave her a reassuring look. This was something she needed to do, she realized. Something she probably should have done a long time ago. "I'm good," she answered Ron. "You?"

"All right," he replied. "Ginny," he said, turning to look at his sister, "you should have told me I was barging into the middle of something."

"No, it's okay," Hermione said. "Ginny was just giving me advice. But I think I know what to do now."

"Oh, about George?"

Hermione shot the two Weasleys a disgruntled look. "Does _everyone_ know about my private life?"

Ron sat down on the stool across from Hermione, ignoring Ginny's complaints that he'd just taken her seat. "Yes. Some of it, at least."

Watching him dubiously, Hermione asked, "And this doesn't bother you?"

He met her eyes and Hermione remembered the pain that had been in them last time they'd seen each other. There was none now, just a hint of an old sadness. "You seem like you want it to."

"No. I just...I suppose I think it should." Hermione shifted her gaze away from his. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ginny quietly making her way out of the room. "I'm not complaining if it doesn't, though."

With a chuckle, Ron said, "Y'know, I won't pretend that it's not a bit...well, weird, thinking about the two of you together. But I'd like to be friends and making a fuss about your love life isn't exactly going to endear you to me."

"No, it probably wouldn't, at that," Hermione agreed, giving him a shy smile.

He held out his hand to her. "Friends, then?"

Without hesitating, she shook it. "Friends."

And though the last thing she had ever expected to do that day was reconcile with Ron, they, with Ginny, spent the entire afternoon talking. By that evening, when she returned home, she felt that she and Ron would be able to salvage their friendship.

She'd also resolved to herself that tomorrow, she would be speaking with George, even if he didn't want to hear what she had to say.

Hermione was the last customer into Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes the next day. She'd left her office five minutes early to be able to slip into the shop just before it closed its doors for the night. For a few minutes, she lurked down an aisle, listening to George tending to the last few people at the till, and then, when he shut the door, she ducked out into the open where he could see her.

"Hi," she said.

For just a split second, he looked overjoyed to see her, and she felt her heart swell happily. But then a guarded expression replaced the delight, and he replied, "Hi."

Hermione took a step towards him. "George, I'm not in love with Ron. So if that's what you've been thinking, you can stop."

His eyes, which had been wandering about the shop, snapped to meet hers. A little hope crept into them, and his voice, as he asked, "You're not?"

"No," she replied firmly.

"But then...what were you going to say? The other day?"

She walked over to the counter and leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest. "That I had issues about Ron for a long time and that I needed to forgive myself for hurting him. And that I finally have, so I can move on. Because I don't think I could have had any kind of healthy relationship otherwise."

George was just staring at her, apparently at a total loss for what to say. "Then," he began, fumbling a little for words, "er...does that mean that you're...ready for a relationship with someone who's...not Ron?"

She smiled a little. "That's what it means."

In response, George's face split into a wide grin, and he said, "I'd love nothing more than to continue this conversation, but I really do need to clean up the shop. Hang around 'til I'm done?"

"I'll help," Hermione offered brightly.

He made a slight gesture, as if to touch her, but restrained himself. "That's nice of you."

"Well, if it'll get things done faster, I'm happy to do it."

Within fifteen minutes, the shop was almost completely straightened up. Hermione was just putting one last box of Canary Creams on a shelf when she accidentally knocked another box over, which tipped and sent some thick, foul, incredibly odorous liquid over her head.

When George saw her, his mouth twitched in what looked suspiciously like an attempt to keep from laughing. "I guess someone left a bottle of Stinksap unscrewed," he commented idly. As she made several unsuccessful attempts to clean it off herself, he said, "No, don't bother, it won't come off that way."

She gave him a horrified look through the dripping liquid. "Then how does it come off? It _does_ come off, right?" Leave it to the Weasley twins to create a form of Stinksap that wasn't removable.

At this, George burst out laughing. "Yeah, we've got towels that will take it off right away. Otherwise you can wait a couple hours for it to come off by itself." When the horrified look didn't leave her face, he laughed again and said, "Follow me."

Feeling that she may not have the talk with George that she'd wanted to if she smelled like manure, she grudgingly followed him into the shop's stock room. Still laughing, George pulled a towel out of a box and started wiping at the Stinksap. To Hermione's immense relief, it removed all traces of the foul stuff. She'd have to ask him what they'd done, both to the Stinksap and the towels.

George toweled off her hair and wiped a lingering bit of sap from her cheek, then grinned crookedly at her. Pointing to her now very messy hair, he commented, "This is a good look for you."

"Oh, I'm sure it is," she said sarcastically.

"At least you're not covered in Stinksap anymore." He couldn't seem to resist one more guffaw at the thought. "I'm not sure that would really catch on as a fashion choice."

She smiled at him, realizing at the same time that they were standing very close to each other. George appeared to have noticed the same thing, because he carefully set the towel aside without taking his eyes off her.

"So," he said.

"So," she replied evenly.

"About that conversation we were having," he began, his eyes warmly resting on her face. When he didn't go on, Hermione raised her eyebrows questioningly, but all he did was smile a bit slyly.

Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her gently. Hermione felt as though she might faint. Or float away. Or stand there forever just like they were standing now.

George pulled away with a deep breath and a sheepish smile. "I was going to let you do that first."

She had just enough presence of mind to ask, "What? Why?"

"Well." He snorted, looking a bit embarrassed. "I've had no clue this whole time if you were interested in me. Thought that would be a good way to find out." He quirked an eyebrow. "Pretty dense, eh?"

One corner of Hermione's mouth curved upwards. "No denser than me."

Hesitantly, he reached out and touched her face, tracing the line of her jaw. Her pulse quickened at his touch and she knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she didn't care. For his part, George looked like he couldn't quite believe what was happening. And though the feel of his hand on her face was quite nice, she thought she wouldn't mind having it other places as well.

Determinedly, she moved forward and slid her arms around George's neck. Her lips met his, his hands quickly were at her back, holding her close, and the two of them spent some time making up for months of repressed feelings.

At some later point (Hermione had lost all concept of time), George reluctantly broke their kiss and looked into her eyes. "I have to tell you something." Hermione invited him to go on with a small nod, since she didn't really trust herself to speak. "Okay, if this isn't what you want to hear, I give you full permission to upend a bottle of Stinksap over my head." She laughed and he said in a more serious tone, holding her gaze all the while with those warm eyes of his, "I never would have imagined in a million years that...that I would actually be with someone like you. I mean," and here he flashed her that lopsided grin that she loved so much, "witty and charming as I am, I...well, there just was never anybody."

"Never anybody?" she repeated, not sure what to make of that.

"Yeah." He hesitated. "No one that made me feel like...I'd maybe go crazy if I couldn't be near her." Hermione's breath caught in her throat, anticipating his next words but hardly daring to hope that she could be right.

"I love you."

Hermione looked into his eyes, feeling herself to be, probably, the luckiest woman on the planet. "I love you too."

This clearly made him quite happy, if the expression on his face was any indication. He started to lean in to kiss her again, then stopped at the last second. "So does this mean," he began, "that I've met all the criteria on your list?"

She laughed. "You know, George, you made me forget all about my list."

"Well, I'll still buy flowers for you."

With that, he pulled her tightly to him again and kissed her deeply. Hermione twisted her fingers in his hair and held him, realizing, with an inward smile, that Ginny had been right all those months ago when she'd set up that blind date. Hermione _had_ found the love of her life that night, without wanting to, without the aid of lists, and without looking. And she couldn't have imagined a better ending. Or, rather, beginning.


End file.
